Page 72 of Choke

His hand, slick with me, wraps around his cock. He strokes, slow at first—deliberate—before his muscles tighten, his breath catches, and he groans a rough, guttural sound. And then, hot and thick, he spills over my tits.

I. Could. Scream.

Reaching around, he unbinds my wrists, and I fall backward onto the bed, breathing like I ran a marathon and covered in his cum. I register him doing up his belt, grabbing his bag, and I push myself up on my elbows.

“Are you fucking kidding me—”

“See ya around, Lex.” He says casually as he walks out the door.

Adrian

Leaving her place, I head straight for the elevator. If I’m going to leave and not crawl into that bed next to her, I can’t slow down. I’ve never wanted anything more than to pull her into my arms and breathe in her warm scent. Once inside the elevator, the doors close behind me, securing me in. I open my phone and navigate to the camera app. She hasn’t moved; she’s still propped up on her elbows, glaring at the space I occupied only about 60 seconds ago. Her hair is wild around her; even through the low-resolution camera, I can see the area of her chest left wet with my cum. Leaning my head back against the wall of the elevator, and I can’t stop myself from laughing—that was so fucked up.

Looking back at my phone, she’s moving, but I can’t fully see what she’s doing. She’s still lying on the bed, on her elbows, but her hand is moving across her chest. Squinting my eyes and pulling my phone closer to my face to see better and—What?Her hand moves from her chest and up to her mouth, two fingers slowly slide between her lips, and her head falls backward, and my dick is instantly hard again despite coming minutes ago.

Did she just lick my cum off of herself?

Before I can think better of it, my fingers hammer the button for her floor, but the elevator continues to the lobby.

Fuck. Go back.

The voice in my head is screaming at me to go back and witness this firsthand. I should be there. Not watching through some shitty camera feed. Not trapped in this goddamn elevator.

I should be tasting it off her fucking lips.

The elevator starts to slow, and I watch her stand up from the bed, grab a towel, and wipe her chest off. The growl I release in my frustration has the older woman waiting for the elevator, jumping back and clutching her purse to her chest as if I’m about to mug her. But she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know what’s happening in that room upstairs. She doesn’t know what I just walked away from.

I lock my phone and tuck it away before I head out into the night. The air is cool but not nearly cool enough to lower the inferno that roars under my skin. This woman, who the fuck is she? I knew there was something when I met her that first night, but now she’s different, stronger.

Reaching my truck and climbing in, I open the feed again to ensure she’s listening to her orders; no coming. Her room is dark, and the feed is that sickly glowing grainy green; her cat crawls onto the bed beside her and spins in circle after circle to get comfortable. I’m not sure how she’ll handle it when I tell her that under no certain circumstances is that thing sleeping with us, and it’ll be relegated to the other rooms of her place—or I’ll throw it off the balcony.

With the door closed to the truck and the heat on, the cabin fills with her scent. Her sweet perfume is on my clothes, her pussy is onmy hands and my tongue. She’s everywhere and nowhere. She should be with me, in my bed, under my body. She’s so close but too far away, and putting this truck in drive and leaving feels like the most impossible thing in the world, and I wonder how she would react to finding me sleeping in my truck here in the morning.

Before that thought gains too much traction, I shift into drive and slowly pull away from her building, making my way the short distance to my temporary place. My legs feel like they’re made of cement, and I didn’t realize it’s so late or that I’m so fucking tired. My bed catches my fall, and I tell myself I will rest a minute or two before brushing my teeth and changing out of my suit, but darkness tugs me under, and I drift off within minutes of arriving home.

In. Out.

Adrian

The noise in the arena is deafening. It’s the first game of the playoffs on home ice, and the crowd is a frantic sea of yellow and black. I splurged on the tickets for tonight; we always do a game, but never a playoff game, never on home ice, and never this close to the action. It’s been a bucket list item for both of us and with my new job and first real paycheck, I figure I owe it to the man who supported and encouraged me through everything.

Leaning across the seat, I need to yell for him to hear me over the crowd.

“This is insane, right?”

He spins in his chair to face me before replying, “What?”

I laugh and shrug him off—we can chat between periods.

The buzzer sounds, and the faceoff results in the Bruins with the puck. The crowd is lethal when the first goal sails into the net, the guy next to my dad grabbing his shoulders and shaking him back and forth.

This is the best.

When the period ends, I suggest we grab some beers and hot dogs and make our way to the concession stand. We talk about the game, and when we are outside the seated area, I take the opportunity to comment again.

“Insane in there, eh, Dad?”

He laughs, rubbing his hand across his chest.

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